


My Blade for Thee, Your Son to Be

by DruidX



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Martin is a Blade, Other, Prior to the game's start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DruidX/pseuds/DruidX
Summary: An Alternate history for Martin Septim, whereby he's diverted from joining the cult of Sanguine and becoming a priest, instead joining the Blades under Jauffre's tuition.
Relationships: Martin Septim & Original Male Character
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this post](https://vaynglory.tumblr.com/post/149021280149/from-an-au-with-nastyfurryfilth-in-which-martin) by Tumblr user @vaynglory:
>
>> An AU with @nastyfurryfilth in which Martin becomes a Blade instead of a priest because Jauffre takes him under his wing after he leaves the Mages’ Guild, and he gets to know Uriel but never knows he’s his father… until Uriel is stabbed in front of him, places the Amulet of Kings in his hand and calls him "son" with his dying breath.
> 
> The user mentioned, @nastyfurryfilth, no longer seems to exist, and neither I nor other users could find the AU mentioned in the post. So, I decided to write it myself.
> 
> It's been languishing in my WIP drawer for 3 months, since August 2020, so I've decided to post the first two sections to motivate myself to finish the middle (the end is already written >.<')

When Martin was nine, a man came to his father's farm. While not an unusual occurrence of itself, the man was. He dressed in common garb, his dull brown hair already thinning on top. The stranger carried no weapon or fancy stave, nor fine jewels that glittered with magic. And yet there was  _ something _ about him – his stance or gaze, perhaps – that told young Martin this man was no commoner.  
"Good day, my boy," the stranger said, his voice mild. "Is your Father about? I wish to speak to him."  
Martin stood from where he'd been pulling the first of this season's new potatoes, brushing his hands on his trousers, and reached for his fork.  
The man smiled down at him, spreading his hands wide. "Peace, child. I have not come to hurt either you or your Father. He is... an old acquaintance of mine."  
Martin tucked a strand of brown hair behind an ear, considering the stranger with a serious gaze. This uncommon commoner seemed like he could be dangerous, but somehow Martin believed that he had not come to hurt the boy or his father. After a moment, Martin nodded.   
"My Father is behind the house, there. Chopping logs," Martin said.  
"Thank you, my boy," the stranger said. He gave Martin a nod and took off towards the house.  
Martin watched the stranger go. Observed his long, confident strides. Young Martin, while not as boisterous as his peers, was nevertheless a very curious child. So as the stranger reached the house, the boy dropped his fork, left his potatoes and followed on light feet. 

As the stranger rounded the far corner of the house, Martin stopped, pressing against the boughs of a trained apple tree, the sweet scent comforting.  
"Greetings Elam," the stranger said. His voice never wavered from that mild tone. The steady  _ thock, thock _ of axe on wood stopped.  
"Jauffre," Martin's Father greeted the stranger. What was that in his Father's voice – resentment, fear? Something about his Father's tone made Martin's stomach twist. "Is it time then?"  
"No. I only recently received news of Nyrcia. May we talk inside?"  
There was a long silence. Martin pictured the creasing of his Father's face at his Mother's name, pictured him hanging his head low.  
"Very well," came Elam's voice, rough with sorrow. There was the final  _ thunk _ of the axe embedding into the chopping stump. Martin shrank down, certain he'd catch a hiding for eavesdropping, but his Father and the stranger – Jauffre – walked past him, unaware. The boy waited for the front door to close then hurried back to his potatoes.

That night, as Martin and his Father ate their dinner, the boy chanced to ask about their visitor.  
"Father," Martin asked. "That man who came today... Who was he?"  
Elam placed his cutlery down and clasped his hands together, silent for a long while.  
"He is... an old friend of your mother's," Elam said. "He came to... offer his sympathies for our loss."  
Martin nodded, swallowing a suddenly tasteless lump of mashed vegetables. It had been two years since his mother passed, but the void in their lives was still palatable, the grief still raw.   
The boy took a drink of water. "Was that the only reason he came?"   
Elam looked up, frowning at his son. "He offered support, money for new tools if we needed it."  
"Nothing else?"  
"What's gotten into you, boy? No. There was nothing else." Martin shied back as his Father rose, the sharp grate of the chair legs suddenly loud. "Clear the dishes," Elam said, turning and leaving the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of possible interest: Nyrcia was "The Etruscan goddess of fate and chance, who changes the inevitable and rewrites the past and future."  
> Applicable, I think, for the woman who birthed the last Septim, who would end the Oblivion crisis.


	2. Chapter 2

When Martin was sixteen he left home. It was not an amiable or fond parting, as one might imagine of a dutiful son and a caring father. It was a fraught and frayed ending; the snapping of a rope. 

At twelve he had, in a fit of adolescent pique, accidentally frozen a row of carrots (that it made the carrots sweeter is neither here nor there; for tell me, gentle reader, have you ever had the displeasure of turning frozen sod? It is indeed as unpleasant as it sounds). The relationship between Father and Son had declined from that point on.

"Martin, please," Elam said, as the two stood on the front stoop of the house. "It is a wild and dangerous world out there-"  
The young man, clothed and packed for the road, turned back to his father. "Aye. Wondrous and confounding too." Martin's eyes glittered with excitement in the rising sun. "I have to go, don't you see? I want to understand-"  
"You can understand perfectly fine from the yard here!"  
"But I can't!" Martin gritted his teeth against the same circular dance they had been doing for months now. "I have to go where the teachers are. If I am to understand anything about the world, about this-" He raised a hand, snow motes dancing at his fingertips - "then I need to attend the Imperial City's Arcane University!"   
"There is a Mages' guild house in Kvatch City, only an hour's ride away. You would save on bed and board if you stayed-"  
"It's not enough!"  
Elam took a step away from the vehemence in his son's tone.   
"And when will it have been enough?" the old man railed. "When you know the secrets of every plant, when you wield each School to perfection? When you are Arch-Mage?"   
"Perhaps," was Martin's stony response.   
"Then it is a fool's errand you are on, boy," Elam said, making a vague dismissive gesture as he twisted away. "You will never have all the answers. There is too much betwixt Nirn and sky for one man to know." Elam's tone turned bitter, as he turned away, his arms crossed. "You'd be better served by knowing useful things. So stay, and I will teach you."  
Martin's frown became frosty. "Maybe it will be a fool's errand. But better the fool that tried, than the coward hiding behind ignorance. Goodbye, Father." He started away, his staff crunching on the bare yard.  
"Damnit, Martin," Elam cried, unfurling his arms and twisting to see his son's cloak catching in the morning mist as the young man strode away. "Stop, right now! Stop I say!  _ Martin _ !"   
Down through the gate went young Martin, never looking back, ignoring his Father's shouts and pleas, looking only onwards to what lay at the end of the Gold Road.

That night, Elam penned a letter to his old friend Jauffre, lamenting the boy's chosen path.


End file.
